Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Holidays like New Years can have a lot
of mixed emotions. For some, it's an exciting time for an alcohol and
stupid party hat induced revery. For others, it's the lingering
reminder of all the stuff you wanted to, maybe even vowed, to
accomplish that never happened. Call it ghosts of holiday
resolutions. It used to be one of the most dreaded of holidays for
me, but over the past few years, that anxious knot has dwindled down
to more of a thoughtful observation and a low burning sensation that
inevitably bleeds into ambition. “Failure” is the best
opportunity to recycle the past and focus on the fresh, pristine
white page in front of you.

For me, this has been an amazing year
of seeds planted. Some big projects were put on hold, but potential
bigger ones have started to take shape. All the 2012 superstitious
fears are laid to waste as life keeps on and on again with the big
message here is to never let fear rule you. Remember kids, the worst
strain of regret is for the things you never did. And before I
devolve into doing some hideous karaoke version of the Butthole
Surfers “Sweat Loaf,” here is a Mondo Link round-up for your
reading and visual pleasure!

Happy New Years and let's make every
moment smoke and sparkle in 2014!

Sunday, December 15, 2013

In the late 1960's and early 1970's,
there was something very special and weird in the cinematic waters.
Underground cinema, thanks to mavericks like Andy Warhol, Jack Smith,
the Kuchar Brothers and, of course, the granddaddy of them all,
Kenneth Anger, was in a golden age and opened the gates up for more
filmmakers to experiment. Throwing rocks at the windows of the
mainstream, the seeds planted started to bloom. That said, there was
no other film that quite blended the worlds of the art underground,
traditional narrative, the irreverent spirit and juvenile sexual
humor quite like Nelson Lyon's “The Telephone Book.”

Made in 1971, “The Telephone Book”
is the type of film that you are never fully prepared for. It
doesn't matter what you may have read about it, you will never truly
understand what kind of ride you will be in for until you actually
sit down and let the images unfurl in front of you. Even then, after
the last frame is finished, you will be sitting there, possibly
scratching your coconut head, wondering “what the hell did I just
watch?” Of course, these are all positive attributes leading up to
the fact that there is nothing quite like this film.

The center of this experimental
whirlpool is Alice (Sarah Kennedy.) A blonde gamine with a spartan
apartment wallpapered floor to ceiling with repeated images of human
coupling. She does her morning stretches and listens to
“dial-a-prayer” on the radio. Life is a series of weirdly
sexualised but rarely sensual vignettes for Alice, with the apex
being a chance phone call from the master of dirty phone calls. The
velvet voice caller whirls Alice's universe, leading her on a wild
goose chase for the elusive Mr. Smith (Mr. Mad from “Tennessee
Tuxedo” himself, Norman Rose). Down the rabbit hole Alice goes,
running into a ridiculous stag film star by the name of Har Poon
(veteran character actor Barry Morse), a thwarted flasher/bargain
basement psychiatrist (Roger C. Carmel, best known for his turn as
Harry Mudd on “Star Trek”) and a creepy housefrau with sapphic
intentions (Jan Farrand), all in the quest to find her dream obscene
talker.

“The Telephone Book”
is one kinetic comic book of a film. Not in the sense of the
superhero “Zap! POW!” splendor, but more in the sense of vignette
pacing and colorful characters. Like a doll eyed version of Candide,
Alice is basically this ethereal girl chasing after the one man
that's reached out to her and her dysfunctional id. Everything is
played out so light, but with all of these strangely dark
underpinnings. When Alice's friend (a pre-fame Jill Clayburgh), who
goes unnamed and wears an eye mask throughout most of the film, asks
her why can't Alice try to find her dream man at home via her own
telephone, our heroine reveals that if she spends too much time at
home, she fears that she will kill herself. Even after she meets her
dream man, there are precise barriers that will prevent them from
ever having a non-payphone based union. Then there is the question
that is never really posed after the two have an all night phone fest
in the absolute most bonkers section of the movie. The film, which up
to that point has been in black & white suddenly switches to
color, which is then criss-crossed with Len Glasser's crudely
striking pornographic animation. The question, for me, is what is
left? Presumably, Mr. Smith will keep tantalizing random women with
his absurdest erotic phone calls, but what about Alice?

Will she keep chasing Mr.
Smith or will the all nighter sonic eros-fest do her in? That's the
problem when you reach the mountain is that you either have to find a
new mountain or fall to the ground. “The Telephone Book” is such
a good film that stubbornly refuses to make any of this easy for you,
which is eternally an aces move. The way the film is edited is one
hair away from feeling like a Burroughsian cut-up. At different
intervals, documentary style interviews come up, talking to an
assortment of reformed obscene phone callers. My personal favorite is
the gentleman whose new kind of kicks involves farting down an
deserted alley. Hey, at least it won't get you arrested!

Early on, Warhol Factory
Superstar/cult writer, the inimitable Ondine pops up behind a desk,
serving as what could only be described as the loosest definition of
a Greek chorus ever. His segments are not very long and sparse, which
is too bad since Ondine was an incredibly compelling personality.
Speaking of fabulous Warhol related figures, Ultra Violet shows up as
a whip wielding tigress at Har Poon's studio, looking sexier than any
of the nude girls there in her shiny black clothes and surly
expression. Rounding out the 6th degrees of Andy is go-go
dancer Geri Miller, who was also in Paul Morrissey's “Trash.”
Geri does her famous dance starkers for Mr. Poon's amusement,
shimmying like both her rent and life depend on it. The ultimate
Warholian move unfortunately is lost, with there originally being
intermission footage of the man himself munching on popcorn.

Nelson Lyon created
something really unique with “The Telephone Book.” Drenched in
neurotic human sexuality but always a little too wry and caustic to
ever be erotic, this is a film that straddles a line of being richly
late 60's/early 70's and yet, due to its very own insane structure,
is inadvertently timeless. Being sadly obscure for years, thanks to
the continually stellar work of the fine folks at Vinegar Syndrome,
we now have this film looking gorgeous and available both on DVD and
Blu Ray.

Visually striking in ways
you could not even dream of, such as the unforgettable sight of a
youngish and aroused William Hickey, and the attitude of a thumb
delightfully up the nose towards the status quo, “The Telephone
Book is a subterranean gem.

Monday, December 2, 2013

As the ever looming specter of crass
holiday infused commercialism and the Carnival of Souls-esque faces
of your fellow shoppers appear on the horizon, I have been cocooning
myself with the usual one-two punch of writing and culture. Hey, it
beats the heck out of dodging the soulless playing grabby-grab to the
tune of canned Christmas music straight out of Dante's lake of ice.

The latest for Dangerous Minds is up!
Being a fan of Barnes & Barnes for years, it was great getting to
delve into their long out of print but worth seeking out VHS,
“Zabagabee.” “Zabagabee” is not just any garden variety music
video compilation but instead is a treasure chest of strange
celebrities, ranging from Larry “Wild Man” Fischer to Shirley
Jones to Woody Herman, with each one bridging the music clips
together. Barnes & Barnes have never really gotten the respect
that they deserve, since the masses tend to always overlook artists
that are perceived as “novelty.” If you're one of those, then
maybe this piece and “Zabagabee” can both change your mind.

Speaking of music, I recently have
rediscovered my love for the UK band The March Violets. Originally
rising out of the post-punk ether along with contemporaries like
Sisters of Mercy, this is a band I listened to a lot in my late
teens, thanks in part to scoring a vinyl import copy of their album
“Natural History” from a friend. Maybe the graying of days with
the onset of Winter has something to do with it, but I had this urge
recently to listen to them again and discovered that not only the
original core of the band reformed but they have new material out!
Even better is that what I have heard from their newest album, “Made Glorious,” is quite good. Also, the two forces of nature behind the
March Violets, Rosie Garland and Simon Denbigh are highly impressive
people. In addition to their musical talents, Garland is a published
writer whom under the name “Rosie Lugosi” is a self-proclaimed
“lesbian vampire poet” and Denbigh is skilled in the art of
forging swords and armor.

After writing my tribute to the late,
great Lou Reed, I finished it in the hopes of being able to stay away
from anything death related for a long time. But that was not to be
when I saw the news of uber-character actor Tony Musante passing away
at the age of 77. Acting in everything from Argento's giallo classic
“Bird With the Crystal Plumage” to HBO's “Oz,” Musante has a
huge place in my heart for his role as captivating sociopath Joe
Ferrone in 1967's “The Incident.” In a film brimming with great
performances, Musante is king and once you see him in this film, you
will never ever forget him. Musante was a master and will definitely
be missed, especially in my household.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

The beast that is fandom can be a
three-headed monster. It's one a lot of us have in our hearts, too.
Feeling fascination and passion for art is nothing to be ashamed of.
Naturally, it is one of the purest things that fuels one to create,
whether it is writing, painting, etc etc. Where things can get sticky
is when the ugliest of the three-heads emerges; the fan ownership.

I'm sure you have seen this pop up on
assorted message boards and social media sites like Tumblr, YouTube
and Facebook. Someone posts a clip from a movie or concert and then
instantly gets irate if someone else posts the same clip. All this
despite the fact that person #1 didn't direct, shoot, produce or star
in said clip. I've even seen some “fans” go so far to put ugly,
cumbersome watermarks on videos that they basically got from someone
else. Which is even more ridiculous when you get into the whole
bootleg realm.

Entitlement isn't always just for the
fans. With writers and journalists, the pissing contest can extend to
subject matter, as if only one person can cover one specific thing.
How boring would that be? Information is for the masses and I am more
than happy to wave my proletariat flag on that. If anything, I love
seeing other writers tackle films that I have written about. Case in
point, the always fabulous and ultra-bright Gore Gore Girl's
meticulously thoughtful write-up of Radley Metzger's “BarbaraBroadcast.” Seeing a good writer explore any subject is a joy and
anyone that gets territorial in a huffy, petty way is tantamount to a
small-peckered man buying a Hummer. If you're confident with your
ability, then you have nothing to worry about. Any artist/writer that
feels threatened by another really needs to examine their own
emotions of self-worth. After all, the outside world makes it hard
enough on the expressive, so the time is nigh for artists to put
aside the small-minded bullshit and support each other. Save the
nastiness for the printed page, canvas, sound, stage and screen.

As for the fans, if one really wants to
feel true ownership of something, then create your own art. It's
relaxing, restorative and will make you look less like an entitled
wanker.

If you're feeling some Halloween
withdrawal, check out my review of the gonzoid-monster kid
underground film, “Geek Maggot Bingo” over at Dangerous Minds.
This could possibly be the most overlooked and unappreciated film in
the Nick Zedd filmography, so throw on your K-Tel “Haunted Hits”
compilation and your “Zacherley for President” button and enjoy
the show.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Literal death is something I loathe to
write about. It's one of those things that overwhelms the bigger
picture with big, broad strokes of sadness and loss. Yet, here I am
writing about this very thing, since one of my biggest art heroes has
passed away. Getting the news about Lou Reed hit harder than I
expected. Other artists have passed earlier this year. Artists that I
like and admire, but none were, to paraphrase Rodney Bingenheimer,
godhead status. Lou Reed was and forever is, godhead status.

Growing up a complete fiend for
anything Warhol and Factory related, it was inevitable that my
interest would cross into Velvet Underground territory. Solo career
wise, Nico was the one that entranced me first, but then Lou Reed's
“New York” album came into my life and it was over.

One of the things I love about Lou's
work is that even the weakest material still has something
interesting and good about it. He managed to avoid the 80's
pap-pop-sheen, a feat that even his occasional collaborator David
Bowie did not. (Don't get me wrong, I adore Bowie, but the “Tonight”
album alone is forever more cringe inducing than even a silly Lou
song, like “Little Red Joystick” ever was.)

He angered interviewers, mystified fans
and never sold out. Not to the rock critical elite, not to his
devotees, not to anyone. As much as both Reed and Metallica fans
bagged on their album, “Lulu,” it was the perfect living example
of why that cat was brilliant. It's a great album with teeth and even
better, its mere existence angered and upset both close-minded metal
fans and even more uptight,
bourgeoisie Lou Reed fans. Perfect.

Again, it leads up to my
favorite adage ever. Don't give the people what they want. Give them
what they deserve and Lou always gave us what we deserved.

Lou
Reed was a musical maverick whose work changed the game and in its
course, invented a whole new one. From “Do the Ostrich” all the
way to “Lulu,” his body of work has a pulse and a soul from a man
that wrote about the human condition and his own experiences with it.
Lou Reed, you will always be missed in this household.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Being the fringe culture lover that I
am, there's a special kind of thrill whenever a movie you love gets
referenced in a song that you love. It doesn't happen too often, but
one instance of this sonic-geekery kismet would be “Debaser” by
The Pixies. Not only is this a great song but it is also the greatest
song about “Un Chien Andalou.” Okay, it's probably the only song
about “Un Chien Andalou” but still, it's one of the best songs by
a fairly stellar band. (I'll save my paean to Kim Deal for a later
date.) The manic way that Frank Black sings/yells “slicing up
eyeballs whahohoho” is one of those things that makes me happy. Fun
random trivia: Pixies drummer David Lovering is also a professional
magician.

Over the weekend, my husband and I
ended up getting massively hooked on a YouTube series entitled,
“Unboxed, Watched & Reviewed.” Hosted by the fabulous
Obulious Toobach (one helluva of a nom de plume, eh?), “Unboxed,
Watched & Reviewed” first came to my attention thanks to the
“What to Watch” feature on YouTube. The review in question? The
1976 “Taxi Driver” meets colonic horror adult film, “Water Power,” starring the inimitable and unforgettable Jamie Gillis. I
hit play and was instantly hooked. Obulious is my favorite kind of
fan; funny, a little snarky, smart and obviously loves fringe cinema.
On top of that, his reviews are great, well edited and he traipses
into territory that both angels and most film writers fear to tread.
The man's cinematic testicular fortitude is impressive. Plus, any one
that makes references to Gus Pratt and owns a “Liquid Sky”shirt
is instantly cool in my book.

Speaking of film reviews, I was
recently invited to contribute a list of some my personal favorite
underrated horror films for one of the best film blogs out there,
Rupert Pupkin Speaks. I got to contribute for the site awhile back
for their “Top Underrated Drama” feature, so it was a pleasure
getting to come back and give some love to films ranging from Michael
Findlay's psycho-sexual “Janie” to the brother-sister vampire
film, “The Black Room.” Hope you guys enjoy it!

There's been a lot of buzz lately about
Lars von Trier's upcoming film, “Nymphomaniac.” The buzz in
question has little to do with the all star cast (including this
week's birthday boy and one my uber-acting loves, Udo Kier) but
instead of von Trier's choice to include unsimulated sex utilizing
body doubles being digitally added to the actors. Von Trier has done
some good work and in fact, it was me citing “Breaking the Waves”
that invoked some snobby Waspy academic ire during my FSU film school
interview years ago, so he has a place in my heart for that. But this
feels almost Castle-like in its gimmickry. Having your actors go the
extra mile has been featured in films ranging from Gerard Damiano's
classic “Devil in Miss Jones” all the way to Michael
Winterbottom's flawed but interesting 2004 film, “Nine Songs.”

So using explicit sexuality is nothing
new, even for von Trier, going back to his film, 1998's “The Idiots.” Which makes the whole digital body double thing sound
incredibly silly. If you're going to be outre, be outre but do not
half ass it. What's sad is that there are critics that will call this
art, which is fine, but largely will never use the “A” word
regarding the pioneers who were using explicit sexuality, like
Damiano and many of his peers, decades ago. This is not von Trier's
fault, but instead the old guard film critic attitude. All the more
reason for a proper cultural revolution. Rip it up and start again.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

The nature of transgressive cinema has
shifted over the years, ranging from the early days of adult cinema
to the underground post-punk film scene in the 1980's. Over the past
decade, the term has been switched over more to the horror genre,
often dealing with an assortment of titles that have been filed under
the “torture porn” moniker. (A term itself that has some issues,
since the images that come to my mind involve either leather, chains
and greased up car batteries or sitting through the IQ-hating “Debbie
Does Dallas.”)

With films like “Hostel” and more
recently, “A Serbian Film,” being hotly contested, the whole
matter has pushed fans and writers alike to ask, “How far can too
far go?” My question, though, is what will be the new definition of
“transgressive cinema?” In this day and age of, to quote a pretty
good Jane's Addiction album title, nothing's shocking, what new
frontiers of transgression are there to pursue?

The only path to really pursue at this
juncture is, in my opinion, is to be pure DIY. Trying to ape someone
else or worse, one up them, is a losing game. Aping puts you at the
risk of looking like a pale imitator and one-upping is impossible in
this age of war and POW video footage all over the net. So the only
truly shocking option is to just do your own thing. After all, while
original ideas might be hard to come by, original approach is always
possible. Creative transgression is ready for a new landscape, one
that will not be defined by certain acts, but instead a harder to
pinpoint approach and atmosphere. Of course, it is all a wait and see
sort of affair.

Speaking of wait and see, there is an
upcoming Kickstarter coming up for “German Angst,” an anthology
film featuring work by famed cult director Jorg Buttgereit
(“Nekromanatic,” “Schramm,” “Captain Berlin”), Andreas
Mitchell (“Tears of Kali”) and Michal Kosakowski (“Zero
Killed.”) The trio of shorts will involve stories ranging from mind
altering drugs, sex clubs and neo Nazis. The biggest news out of all
this is that “German Angst” will be the first new material from
Buttgereit after several years out of the filmmaking game. The
project sounds highly promising, with their Kickstarter page going
live in the next few days, so keep on the lookout.

October is a great month for newness,
since the latest print issue of Paracinema is out and it has been
well worth the wait. There are some terrific articles featured,
including pieces on everything from the aforementioned “A Serbian
Film” to “Penitentiary III” to the later years of action heroes
and even racial politics in post-Reagan teacher features. There's
enough wit, humor and film smarts to make even the most jaded
fringe-cineaste smile. On top of all that, it also has my own article
on Stephen Sayadian's “Nightdreams” and “Dr. Caligari,” so if
you're a juice dog then you know you gotta giddy-up on that action.

If creatures like vampires are more
your thing, then you can get into the Halloween mood and listen to me
speaking (aka ranting and rambling) with the great Frank Cotolo on
his podcast The Cotolo Chronicles. This past Thursday we talked about
the king vampire himself, Dracula and his many incarnations. Listen
and thrill and put on your favorite plastic black cape and enjoy!

There will be more things to keep you
entertained in the near future, say stay tuned cats and kittens!

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Back in 2011, I discovered a trailer for the then new release from Cult Epics of the great Rene Daalder's post-apocalyptic musical of sorts, POPULATION 1. This trailer was one of those magical moments where the tidbit you're given is so good, so electric that your heart races a little faster and you are absolutely compelled to see this film. Luckily for me, not only did I get to see it, but I also got to review it for Issue #164 of Video Watchdog. (A fine issue by the way and one that you can still get a copy of on Video Watchdog's website.)

Anyways, I still love this film so much and really, Daalder's name should be much bigger because the man is brilliant. If this film does not convince you, then locate yourself a copy of MASSACRE AT CENTRAL HIGH. I digress. Below is my original review, so read and enjoy!

The death of the American dream is a
black cloud that has loomed over many a weary mind, but never has it
been explored in such a vivid and surrealistic way than in Rene
Daalder's brilliant POPULATION 1. Imagine a collage art film with
melded imagery from a rustic, pie-eyed America, musical numbers
utilizing influences ranging from Rene Magritte to the German
Expressionists and a post-punk video art sensibility, then you would
be somewhere near the ballpark of POPULATION 1.

In a surprise move, this was the first
finished project Daalder made after helming the cult classic,
MASSACRE AT CENTRAL HIGH. The latter is more traditional on the
surface, but has a sad-eyed cynicism towards humanity and a streak of
uncompromised intelligence that marries these two seemingly
different films together. In lieu of a passive Andrew Stevens, we get
Tomata Du Plenty (best known for being the front man for the
synthpunk group The Screamers) as the last surviving man after
nuclear holocaust. He is America's son, literally, as we get to see
him lose his mother, a ruddy-cheeked rural Statue of Liberty (Maila
Nurmi), to a giant flood. Along his journey, he becomes a matinee
idol and falls in love a gothic 20's vamp (Sheela Edwards). The Great
Depression hits, splitting them apart, when she is forced to become a
taxi dancer for money. Their paths continue to diverge and cross
throughout WWII, where she becomes a popular pin-up and USO singer.
Love's bloom never fades, even after she is ultimately robbed from
him, along with the rest of the population. Tomata is left amongst
the rubble, dancing and singing in his red walled bunker, never
wavering in his optimism and patriotism. All this despite him being
surrounded by his twin ghosts of America and Sheela. But the darkness
of the human condition will always bleed through when things are at
their worst and the ending of POPULATION 1 is no exception.

Saying a piece of art is unlike
anything one has ever seen is about as cliché as your drunken
Uncle's stash of nudie playing cards. But for this instance, I feel
like it can be 100% accurately written. It is rare for something so
experimental to have such a cohesive heart. This is even more amazing
when delving into the films origins, which go back to an unfinished
project in the late 1970's called MENSCH. A good portion of the
musical numbers, especially those utilizing a large, impressive
looking sound stage, is from MENSCH. At that stage, there was little
to no narrative and more of an emphasis of an old school musical
sensibility, albeit one put through a post-modern art blender. The
funding eventually ran out and with that so did access to the sound
stage.

Cue up a few years later, with Daalder
and company coming up with the a well-fitted narrative skeleton to
gel perfectly with the visual muscle that was MENSCH. The sound stage
being no longer an option, they managed to build a great post-nuclear
bunker set within Tomata's apartment. What started off as a free form
video project in one decade became a truly innovative cautionary tale
in another. The use of chroma key in particular, while taken for
granted now in the digital age, still looks incredible. The whole
film is ripe with layers upon players of imagery, mixing old public
domain westerns and burlesque shorts into Tomata's apocalyptic world.
The pioneering spirit that went into this project, along with the
wholly successful merging of the actual story along with the
experimental visuals is something that every budding artist/filmmaker
should instantly take to heart.

Another great brush stroke is the use
of animation mixed with the live-action performers, often looking
like a cross between rotoscoping and pop art. Nowhere is this used
better than in the “Jazz Vampire” number. This is the first real
introduction to Sheela, who is already looking like an art deco
horror hostess, but then is further vamped out through some stylish
animation. She's given big canine fangs, gets surrounded by black
bats and then finishes the song with spitting up a small gush of red
cartoon blood onto the screen.

Performance wise, it would be near
impossible to think of a more perfect vehicle for the multi-talented
Tomata Du Plenty. Small and almost frail looking at times, his big
energy and ebullient charisma is in full bloom here. Looking like a
young Sinatra, Du Plenty is a figure you cannot take your eyes off of
and will instantly fall in love with. His character has all the pluck
of a Mickey Rooney-Judy Garland “let's put on a show” film mixed
with a true chaotic crackle. His character is someone who loves
what's best about their country and yet gets lost in the rubble of
bad humanity decisions. It's a gift to have this film in print,
especially given how little footage exists of Tomata, save for a
handful of Screamers live footage (some of which is on this set) and
an even smaller amount of interviews.

Right along side Tomata, is Sheela
Edwards, a raven haired force of nature who also happened to briefly
be a member of the Screamers. There is very little information about
her, which is a real shame because she is fantastic here. Distinctive
looking, gorgeous and with a volatile voice that is harsh, edgy and
yet, really lovely, she is a huge stand out. The entire “Taxi
Dancer” number alone should have made this girl a star.

The rest of the cast is pretty
colorful, with Fluxus artist and overall genius Al Hansen and Carel
Struycken, whom would later on get some bigger recognition for his
work in TWIN PEAKS and the ADDAMS FAMILY movies, being stand-outs in
their small roles. In more bits of casting weirdness, Avengers singer
Penelope Houston is briefly featured, as well as the Mentors front
man Il Duce, looking surprisingly halfway healthy and humanoid.
(Anyone familiar with the Mentors and their GG Allin-esque work will
understand exactly where I am coming from on this. For anyone who
isn't, feel free to check out the episode of Jerry Springer where he
and members of GWAR have a debate. It's brilliantly ridiculous.)

Music wise, POPULATION 1 is like if
Berthold Brecht put on a post-apocalyptic Broadway show with a punk
rock DIY ethic. The concept of the musical number is generally an
artificial one. Nine times out of ten, most people are not going to
randomly break out into song. However, with the emphasis on wild
visuals and experimental video techniques, the musical numbers here
feel as natural as a heart beat. Having such energetic and
kinetically charismatic performers like Du Plenty and Sheela don't
hurt either.

For a relatively obscure film that has
been resting in the weeds of cult film for the past few years, Cult
Epics has done an absolutely stellar job here. Just having it legally
available at all is sweet, but there is so much icing with this
release. For starters, the print looks incredibly bright and crisp.
Given that a bulk of the media here is based in video, not film,
makes it even more amazing. The 1.33.1 aspect ratio is pristine, as
is the audio, boasting a Dolby digital 2.0 stereo sound. All and all,
it's a near perfect presentation.

But to keep the viewer feeling
spoiled, there are more useful extras here than you can shake a
post-punk stick at. Disc One features the original trailer and a
re-cut one that is concurrent with the DVD release. There's also a
great clip of the Screamers doing their song ,“Vertigo,” live at
the Whiskey from 1979 and some rare audio tracks featuring Tomata and
Sheela performing some of the songs from the film. The real gift here
is the clips from the unfinished MENSCH. Not only do you get to see
some of the genesis of POPULATION 1, but you also get an extension of
Penelope Houston's scene, including a song that didn't make the
director's cut. There's also a whole scene with Al Hansen singing and
playing the accordion that definitely should have made the cut.
There's also a still gallery and the trailer for the “Palace of
Variety” multimedia art performance, which was coincidentally the
Screamers' last live show.

Disc two features the Frans Bromet
short mockumentary, JE MAINTIENDRAI, with the director visiting his
old friend Daalder in Hollywood. Featuring POPULATION 1 co-stars
Hansen and Carel Struycken, with the latter wearing his costume from
his role as “the Brute” in the SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUB
movie, the loose plot is centered on Daalder making a slavery film
set in the urban decay of Los Angeles as the background. It's cute
and features some amazing footage of a now long gone LA.

There's an entire Screamers live show
included, which is incredible. Despite their big cult status in the
West Coast punk scene, there is not a lot of documentation, video and
otherwise, of their performances. So this is fantastic, as is the
recent and fairly comprehensive sit-down interview with Daalder
himself. He gets to talk about his time apprenticing Russ Meyer,
leading to him contributing to the Sex Pistols film, THE GREAT ROCK &
ROLL SWINDLE, he briefly talks about MASSACRE AT CENTRAL HIGH and of
course, POPULATION 1.

In addition to that, there is a sweet
tribute to Tomata, focused mainly on the paintings he created after
his work with the Screamers. There's a tasty sample of a documentary
about Al Hansen entitled THE MATCHSTICK TRAVELER and some outtakes
from the VAMPIRA documentary. To finish it all off, there's a never
released music video for Penelope Houston's song “Girls,” capping
off one sweet-sweet set.

POPULATION 1, in an age of hyper-scare
about the end of the world, whether it is from a millionaire
religious fundamentalist or a state of perpetual war, still holds a
power wrapped in a startling and beautiful visual skin.

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Liberosis? You might be thinking,
“excuse me, I've already been tested for that,” but no, it's not
a disease. Instead, it is a word that popped up on a site I follow
called The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. (After all, sorrow is
rampantly common in this world, so the one that is obscure is to be
contemplated and shared.) They list Liberosis as the following;

n. the desire to
care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life before you
reach the end zone, to stop glancing behind you every few steps,
afraid that someone will snatch it from you—rather to hold your
life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air,
with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands
of trusted friends, always in play.

This
definitely caught my eye. It's a desire I think deep down a lot of us
can empathize with. Not about the things that actually matter to us,
but on the fears that hold you back. I've heard people express wishes
like “I wish I could be an artist” or “I would love to write.”
My answer is usually “well then, do it!” Failure is something no
one wants to experience and even the biggest masochist in the world
doesn't always want to be told no. That said, a feeling that's darker
and more tinged with a melancholy punch is that special breed of
regret. The dreaded “What if?” variety. Rejection is that slap in
the face that stings initially but you will heal from it. Often, more
quickly than you think. But the “what if?” head trip is a
powerful, toxic beast that's not worth the stomach and heart ache.

Something
that has been filling me with liberosis of the most positive kind is
a semi-obscure and ultra-amazing blues-punk-rock band from the
mid-late 1980's called Da Willys. This band first appeared on my
radar thanks to an appearance on a series called Hard and Heavy.
While the series was as cheese ball as it sounds, there was one
episode where they were clearly trying to bridge the worlds of heavy
metal with the then burgeoning “alternative” movement. In
addition to a funny interview with an early incarnation of The
Lunachicks, plus Da Willys.

The
band were instantly awesome and not above taking the piss out of the
interviewer, including one of my favorite replies ever. When asked if
they do drugs, singer Lynne Von responds, “No. We can't afford
drugs.” Even better, the little tidbits of music you see them do
live is actually good. It's rough in the way that quality blues-rock
should be. The blues, before it became co-opted by bad butt-bar-rock
beer commercials and Eric Clapton, were a rough, raw and real form of
music. Between the scraplings we're given here and the tiny handful
of clips that have surfaced on YouTube, Da Willys really were the
real deal. Probably too real to ever make it to the mainstream, but
then again think about how many forgettable bands make it to the land
of milk and honey, all for naught? After all, which band would you
rather listen to; Glass Tiger or Da Willys?

Singer
Lynne Von is still active musically and has even Dj'ed a few events,
while drummer Peter Landau is now a working writer and mighty good
one at that. Guitarist Leon Ross passed away back in 1992 and the
titular Willy is now living in Pennsylvania. There's also a great Flickr gallery of band photos and fliers, featuring art by both
Landau and Von, often reminiscent of underground comic book artists
like R. Crumb.

File
under you can never tell what people are going to respond to, my
“Witchcraft 70” piece on Dangerous Minds has been doing
exceptional, especially for a piece on a decades old mondo film about
the “dark arts.” So big thanks to everyone who has been digging
it. I'm sure the horned one appreciates. it. There's more work on the
near horizon, including something old and something new.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

The past few weeks have been extremely
exciting for fringe culture fans everywhere. For those in the know,
the uber-fantastique film festival, L'Etrange just wrapped up, with
one of its best line-ups ever. The festival included showings of Frank
Henenlotter's incredible looking documentary “That's Sexploitation,” John Waters “Desperate Living” (my personal
favorite of his), tributes to “Last Horror Film” star Caroline
Munro and even a showing of Erich
von Stroheim's “Foolish Wives.” Of course, the granddaddy move was the focus on the work of Stephen Sayadian, with each film
being presented by the man himself. Getting to see an artist I admire
greatly get this kind of recognition is a huge joy. For the curious,
there's also a good interview up on Twitch.

My only problem with a lot of the
press, which has honestly been wonderful, is that I think we can
officially kill the term “porn” when talking about an artist like
Sayadian. If you're gonna call films like “Cafe Flesh” porn, then
you better call “In the Realm of the Senses” and “Anatomy of
Hell” porn too. Now, there's nothing inherently wrong with porn in
and of itself. Not at all, but there is an ocean of difference
between films like “Nightdreams” and say, “Anal Angels 9.”
If guys like Sayadian or say, Gerard Damiano, were European and had
bigger budgets, the porn term never would have been applied. It's a
classist move, after all no one calls Egon Schiele a
pornographer, even though he featured erotic themes in his artwork.
To me, nudity and sexuality do not make automatically make something
pornography.

Speaking of thrilling artists, the news
of Alejandro Jodorowsky's new film, “The Dance of Reality” has
emerged, along with a trailer that looks like it is going to be yet
another masterpiece from the man. The imagery already brings to mind
both “Santa Sangre” and “Viva la Muerte,” which was helmed by
Jodorowsky collaborator and fellow Panic movement founder Fernando
Arrabal.

Another new development, at least on my
end, was a highly rewarding trip to the local used bookstore. After
looking through the Art books for a minute, I immediately bee lined
it to the film section. For a minute, it appeared be the usual
one-two-three punch of dry academic journals on Truffaut and general
movie review guides, but then I saw it. A hardback copy of “Sex in
the Movies” by Jeremy Pascall and Clyde Jeavons, a book I have read
about for years. In fact, it was recommended to me by one of the most
brilliant film writers I have ever known, so I knew it was a must have. Now, if that felt like kismet,
then what I found almost right next to it was like running into a
dear old friend. Another hardbound book entitled “Cut! The Unseen
Cinema” by Baxter Phillips. This book is very special to me since
it was one that I studied from page to page as a young girl. Covertly,
of course, since it is brimming with nudity and violence, as well
as images of religious/political subversiveness. On one hand, I was probably
way the hell too young to be reading it but on the other hand, I am
grateful for the exposure. It was this book that planted some of the
key seeds for my development as a film writer. Titles that are huge
to me now are mentioned in that book, including Ken Russell's “The
Devils” and Walerian Borowcyzk's “La Bete.” I haven't looked at
“Cut!” since I was a kid, so finding it again feels like love.

As for the film writing, if you haven't
already, please check out some of the latest for Dangerous Minds. I
got to explore the rare landscape of kung fu prurience with “Vixens of Kung Fu: Tale of Yin Yang,” which features an all star cast and
some of the dodgiest martial arts this side of your Low Mein buffet.
On top of that, I also write about the Mondo occult relic,
“Witchcraft '70," which is goony in a swanky-devil-scare sort of
way.

Hope everyone reading this is having a
wonderful and safe weekend. Fall's almost here and what better way to
celebrate it than watching Iggy Pop on German TV lip syncing around a
bunch of confused looking models? Enjoy!

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

One of the absolute biggest rewards
about writing are those rare and wonderful lucky moments when
something you have written ends up moving another writer. I was
blessed enough to have this very thing happen recently with the last
Weekly Mondo Round-up, with my friend and fellow film writer, Goregirl's Dungeon, when she wrote a fabulous post about the independent music
scene in Vancouver in the late 70's and early-mid 1980's. If you have
not read her site before, please check it out. It's full of fun,
quality film writing and you may just learn something.

Speaking of music, one of those dreaded
yet masochisticly compelling Rolling Stone lists popped up the other
day, this time covering the top 25 soundtracks of all time. In
fairness, it wasn't as heinous as I was expecting, but there were
some glaring omissions, to say the least. Music and film are like
peanut butter and chocolate. The combination, when done well, is
luscious and kinetic.

Since part of the reason I write in the
first place is some strange moral compulsion to right the cultural
wrongs of the world, I figured I would contribute my own personal
list of superb soundtracks. The key difference with this list, other
than being naturally quality, is that I refuse to put anything in
numeric order. How art hits you can be really mercurial, all
depending on your mood, the position of the moon, how the postman
looked at you, etc etc. So with all of that in mind, here's just a
taste of some of my favorite movie music!

“Repo Man.” Alex Cox's cult film,
in a lot of circles, is almost better regarded for its soundtrack
than the film itself. (Though don't get me wrong, the film is great.
How could anything with Harry Dean Stanton, Fox Harris and Zander
Schloss be bad?) Staring off with the mean title track by Iggy Pop,
the rest of the album is a like a paen to early 80's West Coast punk,
including such titans as The Circle Jerks, The Plugz (God love Tito
Larriva!), Black Flag, Suicidal Tendencies and Fear.

Speaking of punk rock soundtracks, I
would be remiss to not mention either “Return of the Living Dead”
or “The Great Rock and Roll Swindle.” The former was actually my
early introduction to bands like The Cramps and The Flesheaters. That
alone is terrific, but it also features the indomitable The Damned,
45 Grave and an early incarnation of synth-outfit SSQ, which later on
morphed into the solo career of Stacey Swain aka Stacey Q. It's a
great soundtrack for one of the most fun and well-made non-Romero
zombie films.

“The Great Rock & Roll Swindle,”
a film whose origins begin with being the aborted Russ Meyer project
“Who Killed Bambi?” ended up being one fascinating mess of a
music film. There are moments of greatness within the film, with some
of the the highlights being Steve Jones romping in a neon bed with a
half-naked lovely in gold undies to “Lonely Boy,” only to have
coitus interruptus via a talking dog (!), the tribal-disco fusion
band, The Black Arabs, doing a “Stars on 45” type medley of the
Pistols hits and, of course, Sid Vicious beautifully butchering the
old standard “My Way.” The latter has become particularly iconic
and a great example of how one can really deconstruct something old,
hence making it new. Especially when it is the musical equivalent of
using a ball peen hammer and some crazy glue. Which is never, ever a
bad thing!

Of course, Tenpole Tudor's "Who Killed Bambi?" does have a huge place in my heart.

One of the most striking soundtracks to
have emerged in the last thirty years is absolutely Mitchell Froom's
work for Stephen Sayadian's post-nuclear masterpiece, “Cafe Flesh.”
Released as “The Key of Cool,” Froom's score, much like the
images and story it is accompanying, are not easily forgotten. It's
jazzy, infernal and is in dire need of being back in print. One of my
dreams is for not only “Key of Cool” to get a nice, new
re-release, but for “Cafe Flesh” itself to get the loving, uncut
and remastered treatment it so desperately deserves.

The soundtrack for Richard Elfman's
“Forbidden Zone” was an absolute staple of my latter high school
years. While I loathed high school, this film and soundtrack both
were one of the balms that got me through. At the time, I had only
seen the film once, renting a severely out-of-print copy from the
long defunct Hauser Video, but it was love at first site and sound.
It is a great insect-in-the-amber document of the Mystic Knights of
the Oingo Boingo, right before they became less Cab Calloway and more
New Wave as Oingo Boingo. Anyone who loves black & white film,
expressionism, old music, nudity, dancing frogs, Susan Tyrell, Herve
Villechaize, the Kipper Kids, my beloved Joe Spinell and Danny Elfman
dressed up as ole scratch himself the way that I do, must pick this
up.

Absolutely one of the most underrated
films and soundtracks ever has to be Bob Rafelson's “Head.”
Better known as the one film the Monkees ever did, “Head” is one
of the most exquisitely edited, subversive, dark humored rock films
ever. It initially flopped, with one of the biggest factors being
their fans expecting something just like the TV show: cute, zany and
fairly safe. Instead, they got the ole “the money's in, we're made
of tin” soft shoe, Vietnam war footage and Timothy Carey at his
most intense and out-of-bounds. (Okay, what am I saying? Carey was
always that magnificent!) The music matches the proceedings inch by
inch, with the absolute highlight being the haunting “The Porpoise Song.”

Some honorable mentions that I will
write about at a later date include:

There's obviously way more, but
consider this piece to be a little bit of a taste of the proper. Now
as a bonus, here are two of my favorite songs from a movie.

The first is Mort Garson's theme from
Larry Hagman's “Son of Blob.” I have no idea how the film is, but
I do know that this song is a little slice of esoteric heaven to my
ears. I never need happy pills as long as I have access to this
delight. Also, Mort Garson was a genius whose library is itching to
be rediscovered.

The second is from the original “In
the Heat of the Night.” Featuring the uber-fantastic Anthony James,
“Owl on the Prowl” is like a hillbilly version of Sam the Sham's
“Little Red Riding Hood.” In other words, awesome. (Also, this is
for a friend of mine, whose taste surpasses even my own.)

Sunday, September 1, 2013

“Edgy” could be one of the most
overused adjectives in the history of cultural writing, along with
“brilliant” and “understated.” Granted, I am as guilty as
anyone else, but words are really just mere vessels for our
intentions and ideas. One man's edgy is another one's boring and one
of the things I have observed over the years is that most things
labeled “edgy” are often the furthest thing from the truth. Sure,
a lot of folks clamor for it, but when they actually get it, they
will go out of their way to run from it. Case in point, lots of
people wet their collective panties over Wes Anderson, an overly
arch, white bread faux-indie filmmaker if ever there was one, but a
guy like Alejandro Jodorowsky, a born & bred maverick, still has
problems garnering funding for his projects. Then again, I'm someone
who firmly believes in the adage, “Give the people what they
deserve.” Any artist that honors that is someone who will always be
my valentine.

Speaking of which, I got to check out
the Crass episode of the web series “The Art of Punk” and was
instantly inspired by band founder Penny Rimbaud. Unlike some of the
other episodes, you actually get to hear some of Crass' music as well
as see the intense and vital visual side. Rimbaud is my kind of
hippie. Mentally sharp, cranky and individualistic to his core,
Rimbaud is as uncompromising now as he was in the 1970's. The other
“Art of Punk” episodes are definitely worth checking out,
including ones on Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys. The former is a
super-gem thanks to some interview footage with the great Raymond Pettibon.

Going back to Rimbaud and Crass, I love
it that one of the most seminal “punk” bands was founded by an
older, commune living activist. Given how popular the phrase “never
trust a hippie” was, there is something just so beautifully
subversive about that. Not to mention, one thing that gets lost on a
lot of folks is that punk originally was purely about DIY. Before it
got codified by the mainstream and put in an “angry,skinny,white
hetero male with spiky hair” box, punk was actually a musically
diverse movement. In the UK alone, bands like Crass would have never
been confused with say, The Damned or Big in Japan. Not just because
Crass was so incredible, but because a lot of these bands stood out
from the pack. The US scene was equal as well, with early proto-punk
bands like The Stooges and later on, the massively underrated Destroy
All Monsters, standing as unique giants along side bands like
Suicide, the New York Dolls, The Fast and Jayne County.

One of the many reasons why I love the
concert film”Urgh! A Music War”so much is that it is a
semi-perfect document of punk and post-punk before it became
completely signed, sealed and delivered by both the mainstream record
companies, as well as the more sheep-like “fan”contingent. You
have such equally great but different bands as Wall of Voodoo, The
Cramps (those last two alone sealed my affection for the film), X,
The Fleshtones, John Otway and the still incomparable after all these
years, Skafish. (We'll just ignore the fact that UB40 is also in the
film. Hey, the devil works in many ways.)

Now more than ever, the air is ripe and
the time is more than right for a new cultural revolution. Movements
like Dada, the Beats and Punk have all laid out the groundwork to
show us that it can be done. Like the song goes, let's rip it up and
start again.